


Vodka, Mistletoe, and Cotton Candy

by gregariousProtagonist



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alpha Timeline, F/F, Gift Fic, Santabound
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-27
Updated: 2012-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-31 19:23:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gregariousProtagonist/pseuds/gregariousProtagonist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Christmas, this year, your mom gave you a bottle of vodka. </p><p>That's why you now find yourself in front of your computer, Christmas present now half empty.  You deserve a real present. Something you actually want.  And what you really want is a girly hangout (sloppy makeout) with your bffsy.</p><p>Written for the Santabound gift exchange!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vodka, Mistletoe, and Cotton Candy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jabberwocky (Sisterwives)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sisterwives/gifts).



> This was written for the Homestuck Secret Santa/Santabound. Now that it was posted on the tumblr it's okay to post it here! Part of "Ships that Rarely Sail" but, since I wrote it, the cotton candy ship has become much more popular haha. I hope you enjoy!

For Christmas, this year, your mom gave you a bottle of vodka. A lesser girl would take one look at the over-decorated Christmas tree, the plethora of dancing Santas, and copious amounts of mistletoe and assume your mom adored Christmas. You knew better. She did it to mock your own love of the holidays. But it did not stop you from trying to spread the holiday cheer.

You gave her a scarf you knitted, it was purple with black squiddles. You worked on it for a month, and though some of the squiddles looked more like disfigured clouds, it was your best attempt. You hoped your mother would be proud. She took one look at it and told you that she could have made a better one herself. She would, of course, wear it anyway; it’s the thought that counts. You forced a smile and thanked her through your teeth.

That's why you now find yourself in front of your computer, Christmas present now half empty. You deserve a real present. Something you actually want. And what you really want is a girly hangout (sloppy makeout) with your bffsy.

But, naturally, gutsyGumshoe is on idle chum. You forget sometimes that most families celebrate Christmas together. Her Dad probably showered her with Christmas cookies and detective novels. All in boxes much too large for the gift, her dad is a master prankster, after all.

You want to be happy for her, best friends should always delight in each other’s happiness. You are also quite sure that it will be impossible to appearify the beautiful, yet skeptical, Jane Crocker. But, as the quarter bottle of vodka reminds you, it is Christmas. Christmas miracles do occasionally happen, when one really and truly believes. And after a certain blood-alcohol level you’ll truly believe in anything. An attempt at appearification followed by a friendly little chat with your best friend (one true love) would have been enough to make you forget about the hurtful words you mother said. 

Speak of the Gl’bgolyb, there is a knocking at your door. Your mother, impeccably dressed and perfectly detached, informs you that you forgot to open one of your Christmas presents. You pray to the horrorterrors that it is not more alcohol, you can’t remember your last two Christmases. 

“Hi Roxy!”

Standing before you is the buck-toothed, four-eyed beauty you’re proud to call your bffsy.

“Janey!” You squeal in reply, leaping out of your chair and knocking over the last of your Christmas present. “I can’t believe you’re here! You’re actually here!”

The first hug is everything you ever imagined. You are all enthusiasm and drunken affection and she is soft skin and the smell of cookies. You mother raises an eyebrow and lets out a rare smile as she shuts the door. For the first time you thank your mother, albeit silently, wholeheartedly.

“It’s a fucking Christmas miracle! How the fuck did you even get here?” You ask, still holding the gutsiest of all gumshoes. It’s a bit too soon to let go.

She giggles, “My dad asked me what I wanted for Christmas and I said tickets to New York to visit my bffsy-forever.”

“He bought you tickets?”

“I think your mom helped,” she continues, “My dad couldn’t afford this all on his own.”

This is when you pull back from the hug.

“My mother actually gave me a Christmas present I wanted. My mother?” You ask, words slurring ever so slightly. From surprise, naturally. “Why would she do that?”

Jane flashes a bright smile, infinitely more beautiful than the blue emoticon you usually see in its place. “She probably wanted you to have a merry Christmas.”

“The vodka was a decoy!” You squeal. The answer is so simple you throw your arms around Jane again. It’s Christmas, your best friend is here, and you can hug her as often as you want.

“Erm, Ro-lal,” she whispers in your ear.

“Hmm?” You love how she says your nickname.

“We seem to be standing under the mistletoe.”

You pull back, slightly, and take in the pink blush that dusts her cheeks. A devilish smirk pulls at your lips and you send another silent thank you to your mom. She is one crafty bitch. 

“I do believe,” Jane continues, nibbling ever so temptingly on her bottom lip, “that tradition dictates we kiss. And I am not one to disregard traditions. Especially when I am a guest in someone’s house. So, if you wouldn’t m-“

She tastes like chocolate cake and candy canes.


End file.
